What Daddy Knows Will Come Back To Hurt You
by TorchwoodFallenAngel
Summary: John finally confronts Sam and Dean about their relationship. Things take a turn for the worst. Wincest


Well, hello again. I have been on hiatus for quite some while but I am back again with the long - awaited-at least for some of us - sequel to "What daddy doesn't know won't hurt him" I had an inspiration flash a few days ago and this is the result. This is what I think could happen if John confronted Sam and Dean about their relationship.

Anyways, please read, enjoy and review! Thabnking you all!

Warning: There is swearing in this- the F-Word is used more than three times and there are discussions of adult-ish themes but there is nothing too graphic so that is why this is a T not an M. If you think it should be an M please tell me along with a reason and I will consider it.

Disclaimer: Don't own it. God I wish I did. I really do.

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><p>"Another."<p>

"Excuse me?"

"Get me another. No ice."

"I don't think-"

"_Please_. Another."

Obviously the bar man heard the desperate note in John's voice and slid another glass full of vodka over to him. He downed it in one, trying as hard as he could to banish the ghosts from his mind.

"Do you want more Sammy? All you need to do is say it Sammy. Say that you belong to me. Say it Sammy, _say it. _Say that you're mine. _Say it_."

It didn't work. Nothing could drown out Dean's voice, deep and predatory, dangerous and _disgusting_. Vile, sick, _wrong_. He could still see those hands, wandering and groping and touching and stroking. He could still see Sam, his son, so young and innocent, lying back on that bed, face contorted in unearthly pleasure-or was it pain? Could it have been pain?

The disgust and horror in John's stomach suddenly, alarmingly, turned to boiling rage. It had been Dean…doing Sam, not the other way round. Dean speaking in that soft, sordid tone. Dean had been the instigator. Dean had started this, not Sam. Dean had forced this on his younger brother. He must have. Sam would never have consented. He couldn't have consented.

That look on Sam's face must have been pain, it couldn't have been pleasure. The sounds Sam had been making must have been in desperation; scared panic as he tried to get away from his brother. The squirming and writhing was him trying to dislodge Dean and if he heard Sam gasp "Please…please" it was most definitely because he was begging his brother to stop his perverted, sick molestations.

The rage in John's body had built to an alarming proportion. There was a loud buzzing in his ears and finally there was only one thought in his mind. Find them. He had tried immediately after that witch had finally pulled the veil from his eyes; driven to Milwaukee like a bat out of hell but he had been too late. His sons had gone. Well, his son and an incubus. He had no intention of accepting Dean as anything else but the twisted, repulsive demon he truly was anymore.

He got up on slightly unsteady feet and stormed out of the bar, ignoring the barman's shout. He staggered to his car, unlocked it with shaking hands and collapsed in the driver's seat. He sat there, allowing the rage, hot and heavy, wash through his body for a while. After a while he came back to his senses, clarity in his brain. With now-steady hands he pulled a battered leather bag from his holdall and removed a small dirty mirror. It was dull and unremarkable. But it was powerful. He brought it to his lips, praying that it would work.

"Where are they?"

It was witchcraft of course, payment from the witch who had showed him the disgusting truth in return for her life. He stared at the surface until it cleared, a slideshow of revealing images flashing across the glass. The Impala, a grave, a motel, his Sammy- There! A town name, a state. Rock Creek, Idaho. It didn't seem as though they were going to leave any time soon. He would be there. He would find Sam. And he would kill Dean.

He pulled out of the car park with a screech of tires and the stench of burning rubber. If he was quick he could be there in less than two days.

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

"God Sammy…I love you. I mean it. I really do."

Sam smiled tenderly, rolling over to face his brother.

"I love you too Dean."

He leant in, placing a light but passion-filled kiss on Dean's lips. His brother's lips. His lover's lips. They were lying side by side in bed, both naked as the day they were born, sated and passion-filled. Dean grinned, wide and lusty and pulled his little brother closer, tucking the younger mans head into the crook of his neck. They just lay there, both content to be together without anything else, basking in the love they had.

It was something different, something special. They were brothers, yes, but they were lovers. And then they were something more. They were soul mates, meant to be together. It was written in the stars, Sam liked to joke. It probably was, knowing their life. But however much they joked about it they couldn't deny that it was most definitely more than just lust or plain old run-of-the-mill-crappy-romance-novel love. It was love _and_ lust and passion and ardour and devotion and dedication and fierce protectiveness and respect and loyalty and an unnerving but wonderful amount of fidelity on the part of Dean and patience and admiration and so much more besides. The only way Dean could sum it up was the way he had described it to a witch they had met a couple of months ago. "For us to be apart is as though someone has not only carved a hole in my heart but is standing there with that remaining piece, laughing in my face, holding it just out of reach just for the pure spite of it and grinning as I plead for it."

And he would, he knew that. If someone took Sam from him he would get down on his knees and grovel; beg and plead and bow and scrape and wail and curse and pray to every God in the universe. And if even then he could not get him back, if Sam were to, god forbid, die, he would either end his life right there and then or make another bargain with anyone- heavenly or sinful- no matter what, for any price. Anything to get Sam back. For without Sam he was nothing.

He tightened his grip around his now-slumbering brother, smiling gently at the involuntary mewl Sam gave out. He stared down at his lover in awe, marvelling at his brother's beauty. How was he so lucky? How on earth was he deserving of Sam? Sam was everything he wasn't and so much more than him. He was the light to his dark, the good to his bad, the innocence to his sin, the chastity to his lust, the angel to his demon, the lamb to his wolf.

There was a knock on the room door, harsh and strong, breaking Dean out of his reverie. He reached over and switched on the bedside lamp, running one hand quickly through Sam's hair, smiling down at the younger man as he was roused from his sleep. There was another knock, louder this time, and Dean quickly got up, pushing the covers over to Sam. More knocks echoed round the room and Dean hurriedly scrambled into his boxers and trousers. He quickly dashed over to his holdall and pulled out his gun, tucking it into the back of his trousers. After a quick glance at Sam who had a rosary in one hand and vial most likely full of Holy Water in the other, he opened the door. His mouth fell open in shock.

Sam straightened up, trying to see who was at the door, Dean's solid form blocking his view. The next second Dean threw the gun back onto the bed and only a few moments later he flew backwards into the room, hands flying up to his nose. Before Sam could do anything a man, scruffy and stinking of alcohol, strode in after Dean and locked the door with a well-planned flick of his wrist.

"Dad? What the hell?"

SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN*SPN

John Winchester looked up at the shout and he saw red. His youngest- only- son, sweet and innocent and beautiful, was kneeling on the bed, filthy sheets hiked up round his waist to preserve his modesty, but he hadn't hiked them up enough. John could still see the finger-shaped bruises on Sammy's wrists, upper arms and hips, the scratches and bruises and, sweet Mary mother of God, the bite marks that littered his son's chest.

He turned back to Dean, sprawled on the floor, staring up at John in shock, blood pouring from his nose, and drew his gun. Sam jerked forward but froze when their father started talking.

"You sick, vile, disgusting _monster_. I trusted you. I should have known better. Should have seen you for what you were. God, how stupid could I be?"

Words suddenly seem to fail John as he stared down again at the rotten, repulsive creature on the floor and he growled in anger. In one swift movement he leant down, grabbed Dean by his neck and slammed him against the wall, grinning in crazed, sadistic satisfaction at the crack. Sam leapt up, suddenly heedless of modesty, and ran forward but stopped dead when their dad placed the barrel of his gun under Dean's chin, forcing his head upwards. What was happening?

"Dad just stop, _stop_. Dad _please_. What are you doing? Why…Christo!"

John turned to see Sam standing there, stark naked, as a splash of water hit him. The young man's blood turned to ice as nothing happened. His father didn't even blink.

"I'm not possessed Sammy. I'm just doing what should have been done years ago, what needs to be done. This sick monster is nothing better than an incubus, a vile demon. I saw what he did to you Sammy; saw how he forced himself upon you."

Sam's mouth fell open, both the vial and crucifix dropping to the floor. He glanced at Dean and wanted to scream. His older brother's eyes were wide and terror-filled. But there was something else entirely under there, something not even Sam could decipher. Dean locked eyes with Sam and suddenly started to speak, deflecting their father's attention from his brother.

"Dad…I don't know what you saw but-"

"Don't act like you don't know. I know what I saw Dean. I saw you…_fucking_ your brother, tainting him, _raping_ him."

"Dad it's not what it-"

"SHUT UP!"

John suddenly roared, digging the gun harder into Dean's chin, and both his sons flinched instinctively. There was a dangerous spark in his eyes; raw, feral, unstoppable fury and sadistic bloodlust.

"Shut up"

The eldest man repeated more calmly, staring at Dean all the while, burning hate and disgust in his gaze.

"I know my Sam, I know my son. And I know that he would never ever return your sick, perverse feelings. So what did you do Dean? What did you do to your brother to make him pretend like this? You manipulate him? Twist and warp his mind until he believed that black was white and up was down and he really did love you he just didn't want to admit it? Did you threaten him? Pin to the bed and say you'd kill him if he didn't play along just once? And then once became twice became three times then four then five until he'd forgotten why he even let you fuck him in the first place? Did you hurt him? Did you tie him to the bed and torture him until he screamed and begged and promised that he'd do anything, anything to stop the pain? Or did you just take advantage of him? Wait until he was so drunk he couldn't tell what was happening until you had him on the bed and were driving into him, spouting all your sick, poisonous words; infecting and tainting him? You sick fucker."

Dean was silent all through his father's rant, eyes firmly shut, not wanting to see the disgust on John's face, the look on Sam's face as he finally realised the truth about his brother. Sam, however, was dying inside. He could see the anguish on Dean's face, could see how his father's words were slowly but surely breaking him down.

"Dad NO! That's not what happened! I consented, I always consented! Every single time! I wanted it dad. I love Dean, and he loves me, and he would never do anything to hurt me. I wanted it."

John turned back to his youngest son, disbelief flooding through his body, slowly dimming but not quenching the fires of hate.

"What? Sammy…what has he done to you? You can't really say that…Can you?"

"Yes, yes I can. I love him. He didn't do anything to me. He didn't force me or manipulate me or rape me or take advantage of me. We love each other, probably more than you can understand."

"How can you say that Sammy? He's your brother. Your older brother. He's supposed to protect you, to look after you, not fuck you. How can you honestly say that you love him? He's a monster. No brother should ever love their brother, their little brother, as much as he does. It's disgusting Sam. Why can't you see that?"

John finally stepped away from Dean, lowering the gun. He took a faltering step towards Sam, reaching out one hand, but the younger man jerked away, staring at his father in shock.

"How can _you_ say that dad? How can you say that about your own son?"

"My son? Sam, I only have one son now. I have you and that's all. Dean is not my son. He's an monster. A vile, disgusting incubus. A demon. He's worse than the things we hunt. He deserves to die, Sammy. Why can't you see that? Why can't you see him for what he really is? He's a rapist Sammy. A pervert. A molester and a sinner. He's everything wrong, everything sick, everything you should hate. Why do you refuse to see that? It's not normal Sammy."

Sam shook his head woodenly, tears running down his face, a horrible, treacherous lump in his throat. He looked up, staring straight into the eyes of the man who he knew was right. He knew that however harsh his father's words were, they were true. He should hate Dean. He shouldn't be in love with him; that was wrong. It was disgusting. He glanced up and past the man's shoulder and…No. Dean was staring straight at him and Sam's heart broke. The look in his brother's eyes was the most horrible thing he'd ever seen.

It was as though he was staring into a black hole, filled to the brim with disgust and sadness and grief and unending anguish and misery and painful, horrible, gut-clenching, heart-wrenching sorrow. But worst of all; self-hatred. It was intense self-loathing, the kind that made Sam want to scream. He didn't think anyone could hate themselves more than that one look conveyed. And then he realised.

"Fuck normal."

"Excuse me?"

"I said Fuck normal. I don't care how wrong you think it is. I love Dean. He's not just using me as another bed warmer, he loves me. I know it. He's everything to me and I'm everything to him. Without him I would be nothing. We're two halves of one whole. We're two hearts beating in absolute sync. We're opposites and equals and everything in-between. You hurt him, you hurt me. And sometimes I hate him. Because he'll slip up and stare at some woman's ass or breasts as she goes by and I'll feel hollow inside but then he'll turn back and kiss me, so sweet and loving and wonderful that I know he loves me. And he doesn't fuck me, dad, he makes love to me. And he wouldn't even need to do that. I'd know even if we didn't make love. Because when he kisses me it's as though he's pouring his entire soul into me and when we make love it's like he's trying to get right inside my skin, as close and connected to me as possible. And he doesn't even need to. He's already there, right inside my heart. I don't care how sick or wrong or disgusting or vile you say he is. I'll tell you what he really is. He's loving and clever and funny and loyal and beautiful and passionate and romantic and mine. I don't care if you say he's a monster. He's not. I don't care if you say he's a demon. He's not. He's an angel. My very own beautiful, wonderful angel. Nothing you can say will change my mind and I'm never going to stop loving him. Never."

There was silence, the kind you get after a storm. Sam stared at his dad, willing him to understand. Dean was frozen, breath caught in his throat. Sam breathed out shakily, closing his eyes for a split second. The instant he opened them John reached up and hit him round the face with his gun. Dean roared in anger as Sam staggered back, landing with a thump against the footboard of the bed. The next few moments were a blur as John whirled round, pointing his gun at Dean. The gun safety clicked off and then there was the most horrible sound in the world.

…

…

…

…

"Sam? Sammy, you can put the gun down now. Sammy _please_. Just put it down."

"I…I…Dean…Dean I…I…Oh god."

"I know Sammy. I know."

_Epilogue_

The Rock Creek police respond to reports of a gunshot at a motel in the seedier side of town at 11:43 pm to find an abandoned room and a pool of blood. The coroner states firmly that there was so much blood on the floor that whoever it was from must be dead. There was no chance of survival. The two men who had rented the room, a Sam Page and Dean Whitehouse, had disappeared by the time the police had arrived, only ten minutes after the phone call, along with their car and most probably the body.

Sam and Dean Winchester drive until they are one hundred and twelve miles out of the state of Idaho and only then do they stop. They pull over in the middle of a desert. Dean's hands are curled impossibly tight around the steering wheel and Sam hasn't spoken a word since that night. They curl up together, hold each other tight; Sam's head buried in Dean's chest, limbs entangled. They salt and burn the body in the middle of the desert and bury it in a shallow, unmarked grave. There are no tears. There are no regrets.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"What are we going to do now?"

"We start over Sammy. A new life."

"Together?"

"Always."

FIN

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><p>Thank you very much for reading, I really hope you enjoyed it. Please review even if you just want to say WOW! or WTF! Actually...don't. Not if you're going to say that!<p> 


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